


Crossing the Lightyears Between You and Me

by barelyaconcept



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Genderswap, I don't remember what "is that a thing" referred to but I think my tags are out of order, Mission Fic, Trapped In A Closet, is that a thing?, more made-up sci-fi words, no sexytiems sorry, only vague mention of the mission, wow that's actually a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barelyaconcept/pseuds/barelyaconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm sure someone's done a genderswap thing already, but this is my contribution! :)<br/>Post-movie, everyone is switched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing the Lightyears Between You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> Note on names: I only changed Peter's name, because Rocket would be a badass name for a badass female-identifying not-raccoon, and I dig non-gendery names anyway. Also, Gamora, Gamorrah, whatevs. And hey, Peter and Petra are both kinda Christian-ish, right? I won't say I've ever loved that name, 'cause it makes me think of rocks, but it's growing on me.  
> (Sorry, gorramit, look at me perpetuating the binary. I regret everything.)  
> Also, I'm assuming that lots of the language-gender-connection stuff comes in before you turn ten and get abducted by aliens, so I'm writing Petra pretty close to how I'd write a badass Earth-raised woman. Also, Yondu as a woman may have been a sleazebag, but I bet she was a strong, independent woman.  
> Shoot, there's like a ton of assumptions about people in here, but I've put too much work into it to throw it out. Sorry.  
> And this is not an update for HOFSS. Sorry again. Life.  
> Also, this is not a commentary on the squishiness of women. The Peter Quill in my head would absolutely use the exact same line, because... closets.

"Got it, Quill?"

"Uh, yeah, of course! But if you wanted to go through it again, just for kicks..."

"Ugh.."

*

"Sh!" She clutches the blaster closer, trying to give Rocket enough room to settle, but she just keeps shifting and making noise. "Rocket, ohmycheese, _what_??"

"There's something stabbing me, gorramit, it's like a spiney... thing, I don't know, but it won't move," Rocket hisses back, scooting up on her knees and trying to move the offending pokey thing. It's dark in the closet, but Petra can see the way Rocket's having to hold her own blaster out in front of her. 

She reaches out, takes the blaster from Rocker's hands with a mumble of reassurance, and props both guns against the wall of the maintenance closet. It's cramped, and there's barely room between her right knee and the wall for them, but when she gets Rocket off the floor it'll feel a _little_ less cramped, at least. That's going to be the hard part, though. 

"C'mere," she whispers, trying to make it sound more like a friendly invitation than a come-on, 'cause she's really not sure how Rocket would respond to that. In the dim light from under the door, she can see Rocket's fuzzy head turn toward her, but she can't see her eyes, and it's more than a little nerve-wracking.

"What're you on about, Quill?" Rocket grumbles -- quietly -- as she shifts on her knees in the tiny free square of floor. "I'm right the flark here."

"No, come _here_. I'm squishy enough, right? Not carrying any hedgehogs in my pockets. You can chill with me 'til we hear from the Milano." She waits, barely daring to breathe, as Rocket processes that. Her whiskers twitch and her nose tilts downward a little and them she's shuffling up to perch her butt on Petra's knee. Her feet are propped against the middle of Petra's calves where they cross and her tail curls up and in to rest against Petra's t-shirt-clad stomach.

They sit for a while like that, and Petra just keeps thinking that Rocket's sitting stiff as a board and that it does not look comfortable at all.

"That can't be any better than the spiney floor of death. Can I...?" She lets her arm reach out, lays a hand gently against one of Rockef's tense biceps, and waits.

"Uh... yeah, I guess. Whatever." The whisper almost sounds like she really doesn't care, but she's still tense as all hell. Petra reaches her other hand out, pressing them along Rocket's sides and dragging her closer to rest smack in the middle of her lap. She holds her there for a second before she lets her arms fall a little so that they're resting comfortably around Rocket's body. Rocket's even more tense now, but she's not fighting, or even acting like she wants Petra to let her go, so she pulls her arms back, gives her a little space, and settles in. 

"Anything from Gamora yet?" 

Rocket shifts against her, reaching into her thigh pocket for the long-range comm and Petra’s breath catches a bit. The little lump of wire and gears and plastic is silent and dark, so Rocket hits the button and checks the screen. 

"Nothing yet. Think we should ping 'em, see what's up?"

"Hm, not yet. They'll comm when they're in place. Wouldn't the satellites pick up a ping from inside, though?" 

Rocket hums a little, and hunches to fiddle with the wires on the side of the comm. Her shoulders relax a little into Petra's body and the humming softens as she sits back up before cutting off in a quiet, triumphant noise.

"Now, probably not. The frequency'll blend with normal magnetic atmo noise; the Milano should pick it up, though. That's our patter code." She pushed the comm toward Petra and turned into her, leaning against her chest and closing her eyes. "Gonna sleep. Wake me up when they're ready, or in an hour or two."

"Wait, wait. This one?” She holds the comm in front of Rocket's nose, thumb held over the central button. Rocket rolls her head sideways to crack an eye open at her with a huff. This is the most Rocket's let them be in contact while conscious and Petra's trying not to get distracted by it. She flashes a cheeky I-don't-know-anything grin at her. 

"Yes, you d’ast idiot. Add a message if you want; Drax’s bitched me out for sending a blank ping, but it's good for 'er." Rocket's a warm soft weight in her lap, now, and Petra's trying really hard to remember that they're actually on a mission and that she can't just sleep here forever.

She wraps an arm around Rocket and types out a quick inquiry to attach and checks all the settings again before she hits send. She ensures that it won't make any noise if they get a response and sets it by the blasters so she can see it. Then she curls around Rocket's sleeping form and settles in to wait for their team.

*

It must be nearly an hour or so before the comm lights up the whole storage unit with a screen alert for an incoming message. It is, of course, the Milano, with details on the plan to get them the hell outta Dodge.

Rocket stirs at the bright light, sitting up with much blinking and wincing. The ruff along the side of her face is flattened out from being pressed against Petra's chest and her whiskers are sticking out at odd angles. It's damn cute, and Petra’s hands clench around the comm because they want to reach out and fix it.

"You ready?" she asks. They'll have to be on the move soon.

"Always," Rocket answers with a flash of teeth.

They only have about a minute left before they have to be _gone_ , but she can’t let this go or she’ll never find another chance to say anything.

"Hey, Rocket.” Rocket looks up, but she can’t let herself get distracted. “I know the seats in the Milano are definitely more comfortable than the tools on the floor of some scavenging crew’s storage closet, but you could still sit in my lap." Petra looks away, focuses on the tiny screen of the comm unit and tries not to panic.

Rocket doesn’t speak, but Petra can feel keen eyes on her face and she stares hard at the countdown on the comm. She waits as Rocket stands and checks her blaster by feel in the soft-dark.

Petra blinks twice and reaches for her own blaster. The cartridges line up beneath her fingertips, and she allows herself to settle, focus on the mission, as she ignores Rocket’s silence and considering gaze. Locked and loaded, she lifts her chin, shifts up and angles her body toward the door. They have a mission to finish, and the south wall of the complex should blow any minute.

*

They leave the complex in a blaze of lazerfire and smoke, and Rocket's by her side the whole time. She worries, at first, about Rocket taking an opportunity to exact her vengeance, but banishes that idea as ridiculous. Rocket wouldn’t shoot someone in the back. Well, maybe if she was mad enough, but it’s not like Petra’s fast enough to do anything about it anyway, so there’s not much point worrying.

The Milano has barely touched down before the hatch is opening and they're tumbling into the command center in a pile of leather and fur and ammunition. Petra barely remembers to check her pocket for the mission-critical drive before she's scrambling up the ladder after Rocket. 

The lurch of takeoff and the counter-balance of the grav-gens tugs her around before she manages to stumble into the cockpit for a status report. Groot rumbles up behind her and pokes their head through the airlock, humming inquisitively. Petra moves out of the way as Rocket shuffles toward them and watches surreptitiously as Groot rumbles something that doesn’t really sound like words and Rocket nods along. 

"'M fine, you d'ast idiot. Just a snag. No worries."

Petra's pulled from her spying by Gamora's voice. "Got it?" he asks, and Petra nods, focusing back on the cockpit and trying not to look suspicious.

"Yeah, it's here." She pulls the metradrive from her pocket and gives it a throw in Gamora's direction. He catches it, of course, and Drax holds out the transmission-proof bag for it. That'll keep it safe and uncorrupted until they can hand it over to the Nova Corps, and then it won't be their problem any longer.

"Course laid in?" She directs the question to Drax, who nods and turns back to the cortex to finalize the ignition sequence. She grins and settles into the copilot's seat for the debrief. Her team straps in around her as the Milano breaks atmo and Petra feels her stomach settle as the familiar pull of the grav-gen tugs against her shoulders. A flash of thruster-blue and they're off into the safety of open space.

*

Petra finds herself glancing over her shoulder every now and then, presumably to check in on her team. Her eyes are always drawn to Rocket, though, and she has moments when she thinks Rocket might be looking back at her. It’s there and gone, though, and she tries not to worry about Rocket suddenly becoming uncomfortable in her presence. 

She focuses wholeheartedly on monitoring the climate control systems, but they really _really_ aren’t doing anything weird and she’s positive Rocket is still glaring at her and planning her demise, probably.

She can’t have fucked this up, it’d been going so well, with the whole team thing, but...

But, of course, that’s generally when things start to go wrong, isn’t it?

*

After the team has hashed and rehashed all the ways the mission could have gone better, Drax vacates the pilot’s seat and Petra takes it up for the first watch of the night. She breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s quiet up here, a little lonely, and gives her the space to sort out what she’s going to do about Rocket. There _must_ be some way to fix this.

It doesn’t take long before she decides that she’s not going to find any answers without further information. Rocket’s a loose cannon and Petra’s still not sure how she’ll respond to any given situation. An outright apology might make the situation even worse than if she just ignores it all. Either way, though, this endless, circling panic isn’t fixing anything.

She digs her Walkman out of her thigh pocket and flicks at the switch. The play button sticks a little, and she taps it against her knee before she slips the ’phones over her ears. The sound of David Bowie mid-warble drowns out her thought process and she huffs out a sigh of relief. She flips the autopilot off and transfers navigation to the main screen -- there’s no point in getting them lost by not paying enough attention -- and leans back in her seat, hands resting against the controls.

It’s an easy trip, since they’re still in a mostly unpopulated sector of the galaxy and there’s not much to dodge, but the attention the manual steering requires allows her to focus entirely on the task. She’s missed this, in recent weeks, missed being alone and in charge of her ship, even though she loves having friends around. 

The airlock to the rest of the ship opens with a hiss-thmp that she only subconsciously recognizes before the thump of feet -- small feet -- against the floor of the cockpit has her sitting up straight in her seat and reaching for the autopilot. She flicks it on and then looks back to the instrument panel. The proximity detector, quiet and dark, blurs in front of her as she devotes all her attention to the sound of Rocket coming up behind her.

The steps stop right next to her chair and Petra glances, without moving her head, at the chronometer at the top corner of the panel. Her shift isn’t supposed to end for at least another half-hour, and she _knows_ that Gamora is supposed to be the relief shift. So they’re going to actually have this out, then. She pulls the headphones down around her neck, but she’s not going to start this conversation. She still doesn’t know how the fuck to even begin, so...

“I’m sorry.” Except, apparently, she _is_ going to start this, because that’s her voice but she hadn’t planned to say that and _ohgod_ what if Rocket’s got some kind of thing against apologies?

“What? I, no, okay stop, _I_ ’m sorry! I mean--” she breaks off, and the next thing Petra knows, there’s a small, furry body scrambling up into her lap and just... sitting there.

“Um...” she says, intelligently, because what the flark. 

“Uh, who--” Rocket clears her throat on a cough. “Who knew humies made such great chairs?” She doesn’t sound terribly sure about herself, but Petra can’t blame her for that. She leans sideways, trying to see Rocket’s face without reaching out to turn her around. No luck, but Rocket leans the other way and turns to face her.

“I’m not sure I... You’re not mad?” Petra asks, when she can see Rocket’s face in the dark. “I thought you might have come in here to throw me out the main airlock.”

Rocket’s face twists into a grimace and then she grins. “Yeah, sorry. I just... Really didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know how to take it at all. I hadn’t considered that you might... I thought you thought I was just... a fuzzy little friend, or something.” She’s not really meeting Petra’s eyes any longer, and Petra reaches out to turn Rocket so that they can actually see each other.

“Well, I’ll admit that you are _definitely_ that, too. But you’re also nice, and really sweet under all the bitey-angry-teeth-growling. And pretty hot, if I may say so. And competent and badass and... Should I go on?” She’s grinning, now, and Rocket is tentatively smiling back. Petra can only hope that she’s gotten it right, but with the way Rocket’s looking at her, it feels like a safe enough bet.

“Maybe later. For now you could, maybe, come back to my bunk? No pressure, but you’re warm and I think sleeping on you would be acceptable. Also, it’s Gamora’s shift now, so we should probably relocate.”

“Acceptable, hmm?” she asks, grinning like a fool and lifting Rocket into her arms. There’s a clatter of scattered instruments and Rocket catches the Walkman as it falls, tucks it into the crook of her arm as she clings to Petra’s shirtfront.

They pass Gamora in the hallway with a nod, ignoring his muffled “Whaaa?” as they duck through the airlock to someone’s bunk. They can’t be bothered to check on whose it is, but it’s empty.

On the table next to someone’s bunk, illuminated only by the glow of the security lights, a pair of headphones lays forgotten, pouring the strains of an interstellar love song into still, recycled air.


End file.
